


ultimatum

by thebrotherswholoved



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxiety, Fluff and Angst, Hayden’s Fever Dream Fics™, M/M, Mpreg, TW: Medication, Tumblr: thebrotherswholoved, Wincest - Freeform, mention of miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 00:45:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17929553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebrotherswholoved/pseuds/thebrotherswholoved
Summary: sometimes when we argue, we say things we don’t mean. other times, we say things that we mean more than anything.





	ultimatum

It’s getting late—probably around nine given the moon’s place in the sky—but time doesn’t seem to matter to Sam and Dean. The two codependent brothers-turned-lovers are bickering about something stupid under the soft yellow lighting of their motel room of choice, and both boys are typically able to keep it together in order to win the argument.

 

Not tonight. No, the empty threats of leaving and mocking repetition of each other’s words that they’re usually able to handle send one brother over the edge tonight.

 

“You’re being childish, Sam: we can’t just…just…abandon this life!” Dean stammers in an angry hiss at the idea his significant other has brought up so many times. Why must he continue to do this?

 

Sam’s lower lip trembles but he bites the tremors away for the moment. There are tears lurking in the corners of his faded eyes. “W-Why not?”

 

“Why not?!” The older repeats in a scoff as he stomps a foot down onto the carpeted floor like a child. “Sam, we’ve been over this: this life owns our asses, whether we like it or not. What’re we gonna do, give up our legacies? Ignore the sacrifices made so we could continue fighting?”

 

Apparently, these patronising words combined with his lover’s snarky tone are enough to make Sam break down. He’s no longer able to keep his tears back so he lets them fall, shocking the older brother into silence. What should be an argumentative response has turned into a crying episode from someone who never cries.

 

“Yes! That’s exactly what I’m saying! Leave all this shit and run away, do something better with the rest of our lives!” Sam shouts with a wavering voice as his vocal chords are played by his anxiety like a xylophone.

 

Still startled by the meltdown, Dean’s anger overrides his worry. “Do something BETTER?! What’s better than saving the damn world?!”

 

“Fuck the world!” He wipes his eyes only to have more droplets dampen his cheeks and jawline, which have recently become less angular and more gentle. “You don’t wanna leave? That’s fine—I just thought you’d want this, too. I guess I was wrong. But you can’t stop me from leaving.”

 

“You…you can’t…Sam, what the fuck is wrong with you?! This is delusional! You’re just gonna leave after everything we’ve been through, after all the sacrifices we’ve made to get here?!” Dean rolls his eyes and shakes his head with a derisive chortle. “I mean, we—“

 

“I am not raising our child in this fucking hell of a life!” Sam hiccoughs in a blurted shout. He’s revealed his ‘secret,’ but he doesn’t care. “I’m just not.”

 

Dean is silent, jaw slack and eyes wide. His pallid features are accurate displays of what he’s feeling right now: he’s shocked, but confused. Sam is heaving his sobs now, chest rising and falling in uneven and gasping attempts to respirate. When the older male finally finds himself quivering in the dark corner of his mind, he looks at Sam from across the room with tears running down his cheeks and into the corners of his mouth.

 

“O-Our what?” His voice is softer now and desperate for…for something that he can’t figure out. He hopes he’ll find out what he’s longing for once he gets an answer from Sam, who’s hyperventilating. If he was less shocked and frozen in place, he’d move to calm him down because lord knows the kind of anxiety his beautiful mind harbours.

 

Sam can’t think. He didn’t think it’d be so hard to tell him or that he’d be breaking the news so soon. His lungs are burning with the familiar sting of worry and his esophagus feels as though it’s collapsing in at the nausea he’s experiencing. If only that alone could answer Dean’s question.

 

“Our fucking baby, Dean.” The ire in his eyes is rabid. He’s pissed at his lover for pushing him to the point of confession instead of letting him tell him on his own in some sappy way. Sam made a comment about living a normal life but this fight is all Dean’s. “I’m pregnant.”

 

Across the room, Dean is being floored by a hurricane of emotions. With these feelings, however, come questions he’s not prepared to answer. Why is he such a terrible human being that he pushed and shoved the only person he has left to his breaking point? Is Sam alright? Is the baby alright? Has he seen a doctor yet? How far along is he?

 

He’s found the million dollar question. The other queries further cement the excitement he’s going to experience once all the ‘housekeeping’ has been taken care of. “How l-long? Sam, how f-far along are you?”

 

The younger twiddles his thumbs as he calms down a bit from his hyperventilation fit. The subtle smile on Dean’s face gives him the faintest bit of hope. But things could change—he knows that quite well now.

 

“Ten weeks,” Sam bites his lower lip and fidgets with his shirt.

 

Dean’s heart sinks into the briny depths of his chest when his brother’s words register in his head. He does the math in his head and exhales sharply, tears in his eyes. “Ten…that’s two and a half months, Sammy. Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

 

Sam doesn’t like the way his lover said those last words, but what was meant to sound more aggressive sounded more shattered and hurt—and that makes him hurt, too. “I…I’m so, sorry, De. I’m so sorry.”

 

“Sorry about what? Sorry that you kept this from me or sorry that you were never gonna tell me?” The bow-legged blond shakes his head in an emotional ambush on his boyfriend. He’s not as angry as he is betrayed.

 

“I was waiting, okay?” Sam whispers like a child being scolded.

 

Dean raises his voice and if one were to hold a mirror up to his face, he would see John’s face staring back, eyes glowing with that same rage. “Waiting for what? Huh? Waiting to leave me, to keep me from our child forever? Am I close?”

 

“Oh, fuck you!” The younger stands up and lays a protective hand over his stomach as though he’s asking for strength from the being within. “You wanna know what I was waiting for? My doctor told me that I should wait to tell anyone until the twelve week mark because I have a higher than normal chance of losing the baby. Hell, they put me on as many anxiety medications they can give someone who’s pregnant so I can have a chance at making it past the mark!

 

Not everything is about you, Dean! You’re not the fucking sun and the world doesn’t fucking revolve around you. I have been through hell with this: I took a test alone in a gas station single stall. I researched everything online. I walked my ass through a whole fucking crowd of protesters at the clinic just to see the baby. I hid this from everyone for six weeks even though I wanted to tell you more than anything, to see you get excited about having a family with me. You don’t get to be the victim here—the only victim in this situation is our child if you decide to give us up for the guts and gore of hunting.”

 

After Sam finishes delivering his philippic, he sits down on the bed and reaches into the drawer for a prescription pill bottle—clonazepam—taking one small yellow pill, tossing it back, and beginning to wait for the effects to kick in and ease his anxiety. He regulates his breathing before looking up at Dean with weary eyes.

 

“So, what’s it gonna be?” He murmurs, hand still cupping over his abdomen subconsciously.

 

Dean is still suffering the delayed blows from his brother’s speech, one that pierces his conscience with guilt. He did this: he’s pushed Sam time and time again with little regard for his crippling anxiety, he’s scared him badly enough to make him take his emergency medication…he’s made someone who’s doing a selfless thing feel like the scum of the earth.

 

Approaching the bed, he wrings his hands and sits down a few inches from where his boyfriend is—he’s prepared no speech. “Are…are you actually asking me that question?”

 

With an exasperated furrow of his eyebrows, Sam nods and Dean just looks into his eyes, brilliant green irises shining behind his tears. “That’s not even a choice, Sammy. I wanna…fuck, I wanna be a dad with you. I want that so bad.”

 

Sam’s eyes widen and his pupils dilate in either happiness or shock, the latter being ruled out when he throws himself into his boyfriend’s arms and kisses him under the gentle chorus of honesty surrounding them. As Dean holds him in his strong arms, he relaxes and feels the older man exhale into his hair.

 

"I'm sorry I yelled at you." He kisses Sam's temple with a guilty sigh but only feels his boyfriend's lips against his in response. He assumes that he's forgiven. When they part, the younger brother sniffs back some residual tears and holds Dean’s hand, only for him to pull out his phone with his other.

 

Knowing full well that Sam is confused at his kind of rude action, he dials a familiar number and the line trills thrice before a gruff voice sounds on the other end of the call. All the brunet can hear of the conversation is enough to give him all the hope he needs to survive any winter that may come.

 

“Hey, Bobby. Sorry for callin’ so late—yes, I know I’m interrupting your Tori Spelling—but this is important.” Dean pauses to look at Sam, squeezing his hand in a way that says ‘don’t worry: I’m not going anywhere.’ “Me and Sam…we’re out. Done with this hunt and all the rest after that. It’s just…time to move on.”

 

He listens to every word like it’s a homily and, even though he can’t hear the whisky-tinged voice of his uncle-father, knows that the man will accept them any day of the week no matter how tumultuous it may be. When Dean sets his cellphone down, he embraces Sam and innocently kisses his neck.

 

“Rufus is leavin’ tomorrow to take this hunt,” the blond grins with a slight nostalgic nod. “And we’re gonna get the hell out of Dodge and go live an apple pie life: you, me, and Baby-in-Progress, okay?”

 

Sam’s heart is about to burst at all this happiness and change for the better. They’ll leave the road so far in the past and take the road less traveled by. They’ll beat the odds. They’ll put their damned-to-hell selves together and create something good. With one easy, simple breath, he paves the way upon which their future will unfold.

 

“Okay.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know what this is to be honest. I’m just tossing garbage at you. eat up, children:)


End file.
